|Allison Vincent|
Alien plays in glorious 35mm at the Trylon Cinema from Friday, March 13th, through Sunday, March 15th. For tickets, showtimes, and other series information, visit trylon.org.
When I initially pitched this idea for Alien to Perisphere, I intended to write a snarky, humor-laden essay about the trope of smart women who are ignored in horror/sci-fi films until the very loud, usually mustachioed men who did the ignoring succumb to their dumb, completely avoidable dooms. I even had a funny, albeit too long title for the piece: FFS, JUST LISTEN TO WOMEN *she screams into the void as she is ejected from the ship.*
But, I’m actually not going to write about that today despite the fact that I do have big feelings about the Alienuniverse. I really love these characters, creatures, and lore. Even the really, really bad movies (and OH BOY ARE THERE SOME STINKERS) are still fun to watch.
In the film, Ripley slowly emerges as our unlikely hero. It is Ripley that determines the transmission from The Nostromo was a warning, not an SOS. Ripley refuses to let the team that explored the alien planet return when Kane has a FULL-ON FACEHUGGER attached to him, citing quarantine regulations. After Captain Dallas is killed, Ripley takes on leadership responsibilities for the crew. Ripley discovers the secret company directive to let Ash—their Android/AI guy who broke Ripley’s quarantine protocols and brought the alien onboard in the first place—return with the alien regardless of the impact on the crew by accessing Mother. And ultimately, Ripley bests the monster, managing to escape the ship.
Motivated in equal parts by spite, fear, and the will to live, Ripley is able to beat and outsmart her foe, all while saving the crew cat, Jones. Saving an animal is one of the biggest green flags for a character being a good person. So much so that Blake Snyder’s book, Save the Cat: The Last Book on Screenwriting You’ll Ever Need, features this basic character writing trick as its title. She is an incredible character. A total badass and exceptionally relatable. And her antagonist, the xenomorph, is one of the deadliest, most fear/awe-inducing monsters in the canon.
I love xenomorphs. I mean, what’s not to love? They have body armor, their blood is acid that can burn through most any material (making injuring it a logistical nightmare in an air-pressurized spaceship), it has a spear on its tail, shiny metallic-looking teeth, and a projecting inner jaw that makes the xenomorph the world’s most upsetting Russian nesting doll. Initially inspired by H.R. Giger’s surrealist nightmare artwork, they are both weird and beautiful imaginations of parasites from beyond the stars. In addition to an impressive final form, the xenomorph’s biology and life cycle are equal parts terrifying and fascinating. From the egg, to facehugger, to chest burster, to fully grown xenomorph, these things are scary from T to B.
Outside of superheroes, villains get most of the glory in terms of fandom and staying power. Looking at the xenomorph, it makes a ton of sense. They have to be epically designed and scary to be effective. Frankly, it is easy to be a villain. Cushy, even. They have the resources they need to reign terror from the jump and can just mug for the camera to be effective; to look “cool.” A good backstory or motive is helpful, but not necessarily required. Bad can just be bad sometimes. They just need to be bad enough that a hero rising above all the odds the villain presents is extraordinary. Being a hero is what’s hard.
Ripley is my favorite kind of hero because she is a normal person pushed to her limit who rises to the occasion. Unlike other superheroes who have supernatural abilities, otherworldly gifts, or an absolute embarrassment of riches (looking at you, Batman), Ripley is just at work trying to do the right thing to get her crew home safely. Can you imagine hearing the hero’s call to action while you’re on the clock? In the back half of the film, when it becomes clear that the diabolical company she works for is dead set on bringing this weapon of biological mass destruction to Earth, Ripley’s sense of the greater good kicks in and destroying the xenomorph becomes her main objective rather than simply surviving. Even in the most dire of circumstances, Ripley is looking out for the best interests of others she’s never even met. Why? Because it’s the right thing to do. That’s heroism.
As I write this from St. Paul, Minnesota, I cannot help but reflect on the audacity of hope and incredible courage that regular people are capable of showing in the face of what should be crushing defeat; of choosing to do what is right in spite of the staggering obstacles they face. I’ve said, in past essays, that art is what we cling to in times of trouble. The human mind gloms onto stories like driftwood in a gale. We layer our experiences on those of others and take comfort and inspiration from those fighting the good fight on screen or on the page. We become our own Ripley.
The people of Minnesota are doing that. They’re calling out injustice and disinformation, they’re showing up for neighbors with mutual aid, and trying their best to protect them from outside invaders who are better armed and resourced with the intention to do harm. Folks who can are putting themselves, their bodies, between that force and those they are threatening. People are organizing, singing songs, donating, marching, making signs, building barriers to protect neighborhoods, moving money from big chains to local businesses, checking on their friends and family, doing laundry, babysitting, helping children get to and from school, they’re disrupting the status quo and making noise to raise their collective voice against tyranny. They’re calling representatives, relatives, corporations, and local leaders to use their power and influence to demand action. They’re answering the call to action and getting to work.
They’re saving the cat.
And now and forever, the people of Minnesota are all my heroes.
Edited by Finn Odum